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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27621407">Adagio</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/bittercape/pseuds/Bittercape'>Bittercape (bittercape)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Domestic Fluff, M/M, Rating May Change, Silly, Slice of Life</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 16:20:14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>958</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27621407</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/bittercape/pseuds/Bittercape</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Small snippets from life in Japan, pre-s4. <br/>Unashamed fluff, because that's apparently how I roll. </p><p>I'm also wildly out of sync, but time is fake.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Zolf Smith/Oscar Wilde</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>A Wilde Week 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Revenge</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Oscar had spent ages making a plan. He had made several plans, in fact, and discarded most of them. They were all either too mean or too weak or too likely to expose him more than his victim. But this was perfect. It was less mean than it initially seemed, and would expose himself just the right amount. There were, after all, layers to his plan. Nobody should ever accuse Oscar Wilde of being straightforward. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It all started when Zolf made him tea. In his own way, Zolf was as roundabout and crooked as Oscar himself, because Zolf would never openly do something as affectionate and frankly sweet as making a cup of the for a colleague - or, dare he say it, a friend. Oh no, the gods would all be coming down to sing Oscar’s praises (in harmony) before that happened. Not that he wouldn’t deserve that, so it might happen at some point. Tragically, they had so far not shown up, and Zolf would keep being covertly nice to him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This had gone on for long enough, and Oscar was ready. He snuck into the bath while Zolf was relaxing in the deep tub, and grabbed the stiff, scratchy towel he had brought in with him. And then he leaned against the wall in the hallway to wait. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In retrospect, he had to admit there were aspects to this plan he had not considered. Namely:</span>
</p><ol>
<li><span>How long Zolf took in the bath. Oscar was bored enough to compose sonnets in his head after waiting for a quarter of an hour. </span></li>
<li><span>The variety and inventiveness of Zolf’s swearing. It was unfairly and frustratingly charming, for some unknown reason.</span></li>
<li><span>The speed with which Zolf left the bathroom, which nearly ruined the plan altogether. </span></li>
<li><span>Finally, what the sight of Zolf’s naked backside would do to him. </span></li>
</ol><p>
  <span>He gathered himself sufficiently to complete his plan. With all the speed and grace he possessed, he dropped a proper towel over Zolf’s head, before wrapping him in a soft and fluffy robe. And then he escaped down the corridor. He had little hope of claiming innocence for long, but he would at the very least put some distance between them before the inevitable retaliation.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Forgetting</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Zolf’s grumpiness had reached a level where Oscar was worried it might get into the walls, like osmosis. Or the smell of old tobacco. There was no indication of anything having gone wrong. Barnes and Carter were out on a mission, making Carter unlikely to be the cause. Breakfast had been no worse than usual, the weather was admittedly horrible, but that had not changed in recent memory. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oscar had spent the morning going through every piece of recent correspondence, getting none the wiser. Zolf was just walking around with a metaphorical thundercloud over his head for no discernible reason. Maybe his sheets were uncomfortable? A chat with the innkeeper put that theory to rest. Oscar next checked the supply of beer, leather oil and spare parts for Zolf’s prosthetics. Everything seemed in order. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What on earth are you doing, Wilde?” Zolf sounded no happier to find Oscar on his knees, unobtrusively (or so he had imagined) leaning in to check Zolf’s armpit for chafing. Oscar felt uncharacteristically flustered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just … I wanted to find out what’s wrong,” he said, the defensive note in his voice definitely too subtle for Zolf to notice. He straightened up. “It’s possible your mood is making the rain even worse, and I wanted to check if there was a reason for it.” There, that was better. The right amount of cheek. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you consider asking?” Zolf huffed. “You know, like a regular person?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, </span>
  <em>
    <span>fine</span>
  </em>
  <span>. What’s the matter, Zolf?” Oscar batted his eyelashes for good measure. To his amazement, Zolf blushed. He’d never done that before.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, never you mind, it’s silly really,” Zolf grumbled and tried to turn away. Oscar, however, dropped to his knees to be at eye level, and grabbed him by the elbow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come on, Zolf, you might as well tell me now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just. It’s my birthday, and …” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oscar laughed in relief, and dragged a flustered Zolf towards the bar. He was pretty sure there was at least one good bottle of champagne left. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Treats</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“What’s this?” Carter’s voice held nothing but idle curiosity, but Oscar felt his spine stiffen nevertheless. He knew what Carter had picked up, and he was searching frantically for an explanation that wouldn’t blow his little game to pieces.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm,” he hummed, trying (and failing) to appear nonchalant, and turned towards Carter. He was holding a small package, wrapped in thin, brightly colored paper.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, that. That’s just a …” He had no sensible explanation and his mind was completely blank. The problem with getting absorbed in these little games was that he had forgotten that Barnes and Carter would come back from their mission. And while Barnes would perhaps ask, he would not insist. Carter, however, was like a terrier, and when he smelled something hidden, he would not. Stop. Digging. And he had clearly paused too long, because Carter’s eyes were narrowed suspiciously, and he ripped the paper off. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“... chocolate?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“... yes?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wilde. Why are there small wrapped pieces of chocolate hidden around the building?” Oscar had no answer and just shrugged. Carter looked closer at the small treat, and then sniffed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is that strawberry?” Oscar shrugged again. </span>
  <span>“Now wait just a minute. Strawberries are Zolf’s favourite. Wilde, are these poisoned? Are you trying to secretly murder him?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? No!” Carter glared at him. </span>
  <span>“I’m not trying to poison him, you idiot, I’m trying to seduce him!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oscar immediately regretted his outburst and turned away to bang his head on the wall. Who knew what Carter would do with that piece of information.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
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